


Never Forgotten

by envygreen



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, Goodbyes, Loss, Military Working Dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envygreen/pseuds/envygreen
Summary: Brock has to say goodbye to an old friend.





	Never Forgotten

The sprawling one story house with a gray stone veneer stood at the end of a white crushed rock drive way. The tires rumbled when Brock turned the truck onto the path. His stomach clenched as he thought back to the voicemail that was on his phone when he returned from Mexico. _"Hey Brock, it's John. Give me a call when you get this."_ It was innocuous enough, but something about it had made him pause. Made him put off calling John until he had a chance to sleep away some of the Mexico mission. He was exhausted physically and mentally. Bravo completed the assignment, but the ill wind that passed through the team would take some time to clear out. It was almost like they were snake-bit lately. Everything they touch turned bad. He wanted to wait a little bit longer to hear more bad news.

 

_"I am sorry, man, it's not cancer, but it isn't good."_

 

He parked the truck in front of the house and shut off the engine. The faint sound of dogs barking could be heard. The front door to the house opened before Brock had even fully left the truck. Two little fluffy white dogs came out full speed ahead yipping excitedly and wiggling happily. Brock shut the door to the truck and reached down and scratched their necks before straightening to greet the older lady standing in the doorway.

 

"Afternoon, Janice."

 

"It is good to see you Brock."

 

She met him half way and gave him a brief hug then looped an arm around his and led him into the house. "Would you like anything to drink? I have coffee in the pot."

 

"No thank you." The comfortable home looked the same as it always did when he visited- which wasn't as much as he would have liked, but more often than he thought would be possible with this job.

 

"Alright, if you change your mind you know where the mugs are. John's in the backroom. Pierce will be here soon."

 

"Thanks Janice."

 

She squeezed his arm gently and let go. "No, thank _you_ , Brock."

 

Brock had met John when he was a preteen.  Brock's mother was an amazing woman and taught him the best values one could have in this life, but she also had to work extra to support them and Brock had a little more freedom from supervision than was advisable for an active kid at the perfect age to get into trouble. John was part of a K9 unit for the local sheriff's department and was their neighbor at the time. Brock doesn't remember exactly when or how John became a stabilizing influence in his life, but just by being there to talk to he did a lot to keep him from running wild with his classmates and causing mischief and getting into trouble that would affect his future. John's wife, Janice, was always kind to him and had a helping hand for his mom though his mother had always been too proud to ask for help.

 

John and Janice were the first ones Brock thought of when he needed help. Though he was placing a great burden on them, they agreed without hesitation.

 

Brock stepped over a dog gate in the hall on his way to the back room. He could hear the fluffy white dogs' claws stop as they got held up at the gate. John's nearly completely gray hair was the first thing Brock saw when he entered the room. He was sitting on the couch with his head bowed, on his lap was the large head of an equally gray muzzled Shepherd.

 

The dog's ears twitched and his head lifted as he scented the air. His tail began wagging and he turn and struggled to get up. John helped him off the couch and the big dog tottered his way to Brock.  Brock knelt down so the dog could lick his face with happy whines.

 

"Hey Blue. Good to see you, boy." He told him. The dog buried his head in his chest so Brock could bury his fingers in the fur around his neck. Blue groaned happily.

 

"His ears and eyes don't work so well anymore, but his nose sure still does."

 

"He always was the best." Brock replied.

 

Blue leaned back to lick his face again then gingerly picked up his left paw and placed it on Brock's knee. An old gesture that began almost a decade before. Brock placed a hand over the paw in return then had to bury his face in the fur on the dog's neck while he blinked back tears. "I missed you too, buddy."

 

Blue's hair wasn't as soft as it used to be. It was coarse and thinning. Brock could easily feel the bones through his fur, muscle and fat having bled away with age. At nearly sixteen years old Blue was not only old for his breed but ancient for one who had been worked hard in the military. Even through the age Brock could still see that dog he first met. With a happy dog smile, bright eyes, and a long stitched up wound on his hip, this furry beast knocked some humility into a cocky young man freshly pinned with his trident. It was this dog that made him decide to learn to become a handler and later taught him that you always, always respect what the dog tells you and follow its orders in the field. Blue had been deployed multiple times by the time Brock had met him and was impressively steady. Brave, courageous and knew his job and taught Brock his own. Cerberus is the extraordinary DEVGRU partner he is today because of Blue's hard work on getting Brock trained to his high standards.

 

Brock had last seen Blue only a few weeks before the mission to Mexico. He was clearly aging, but was still getting along fine. His health had deteriorated fast, but that was probably expected at his advanced age. Brock kissed his head again and stood up.

 

"Let's get you comfortable." Brock said to the dog. Blue followed him back to the couch. There was a thick dog blanket laying over a plastic cover. Brock lifted him back on to the blanket. Blue weighed less than Cerberus now, though the Bravo team Belgian Malinois had a much smaller body type.

 

Blue gave John a quick lick, but waited until Brock sat down on the other end of the couch before he settled down. He sprawled half across Brock's lap. A familiar position they found themselves in these last few years whenever Brock visited. Blue sighed and closed his cloudy eyes.

 

"He loves me and Janice, but you have always been his person."  John said, and patted the furry hip that was facing him. 

 

Brock rubbed his fingers over the soft ears and gently rubbed between Blue's closed eyes. One of his BUD/S instructors came up to him after he was assigned a team.  " _Have you thought about becoming a dog handler? I know the team you are heading to is looking to get more team guys on the dogs. When you get to your base, visit the kennels and think about it._ "

 

It wasn't a question out of nowhere. His instructors all knew about his mentor from the interview process before and during selection. Not that Brock wanted to become a dog handler because of John, because he didn’t (the thought never crossed his mind- he didn't know it was a thing in the Navy), but Brock did join the military because of the man.  Before becoming a law enforcement officer John served in the Marines. When he spoke of his service it was with both love and hate. He once told Brock that enlisting was the best decision he made in his life and he never regretted it, but was glad to leave when his term of service ended. He liked his civilian life much better.

 

Brock didn't really know what he wanted to do with his life when he was a teenager, just that he needed to do something worthwhile and he was going to join the military in some format to see if it fit his goal. When he told his mom this she wasn't ecstatic. She wasn't disapproving either, just worried. She made Brock sit down with her, John and Janice to talk about what all joining the military entailed. How he would be practically owned by the government until his contract ended. How it would affect his life and the lives of those around him. John wasn't concerned. " _You are a good kid_." He had said after Janice and Brock's mom had left, " _You've got the temperament for it, a lot better one for it than I ever had. You are the kind of person that it doesn't matter what you do you will succeed in whatever you set your mind to_." 

 

Brock enlisted with the Navy with the option for BUD/S because one of John's friends told him that the SEAL pipeline was some of the harshest training in the military and took determination and grit and showed a person just who they were. Plus, he liked swimming. Though, to be honest, if he wanted to continue to like swimming he should have chosen a different career path to the military. The training to be a SEAL sucks the enjoyment of water right out of you.

 

Brock hadn't needed to ask about the kennels when he arrived to his new base. One of his instructor's friends took him on the grand tour while his paperwork was processing and made sure to introduce him to the Master-At-Arms in charge of the kennel. The kennel was interesting and the training the kennel master talked about was familiar to what Brock had learned from John, but different in some aspects as well. The men and women working in the kennel were friendly. When the kennel master was talking about progression of certifications handlers had to get they stopped in front of a gate where the largest dog in the kennel stood. He trotted up to the gate of his cage with his tail waving back and forth behind him placidly. The giant stitched together gash on his flank didn't seem to bother him at all as he came to greet his guests. The kennel master smiled at him,  " _Much bigger than we like them to be- he kept growing after we got him- but couldn't drop him because he's the best dog here._ " He had been injured jumping through a broken window of a car to stop a person of interest from getting away in the middle of a firefight. He held the POI for five minutes while bleeding. He was shipped home to heal since the team's deployment was going to be over before he was all healed up.

 

Brock was proud of making it through the trials and training and being allowed to serve his country as a Navy SEAL, but he had done nothing compared to the dogs in this kennel. These dogs saved lives. The big shepherd sat at the door to his kennel and Brock knew that it would be an honor to have those confident and fearless brown eyes guarding his and his teammates' backs.  Though he didn't know it at that time, that moment altered his path in life. The next thing Brock knew he was talking to his CO and plans were being made. Deployment came first, as that was where his new team was at in rotation, but it was worked out that Brock was put in contact with handlers across all the services during the deployment. A particularly friendly IED sniffing lab who made her entire unit smile at the end of the day despite the stressful patrols they went on every day still sticks out in his mind all these years later.  What he learned those months cemented his decision and he never regretted his choice. He went straight to dog school when he got back stateside from deployment. Even now as he sits on the couch with Blue's head resting on his lap, Brock is grateful that the shepherd came into his life when he did. He can't imagine where he would be at right now if he hadn't. Probably not on Bravo team and that is a completely gut wrenching thought on its own.

 

Brock gently rubbed a finger between the closed eyes and Blue groaned in contentment. John shook his head. "I remember when you brought this damn dog to me. He sniffed every inch of the house then went straight to the bedroom and claimed the bed as his own. The way he acted you would have thought that he was a spoiled pet dog his entire life."

 

"He was just enjoying his retirement." Blue was special. He had a rare laid back nature for dog in his line of work. He could turn the attitude on when needed, but wasn't always on. He was forgiving of mistakes. Cerberus, in contrast, has always been easily bored when not given something to do. The Malinois needs work or he will start plotting ways to entertain himself and if you are not careful will teach himself things you do not want him to learn. Blue had more patience than Brock ever did. Brock is certain that he is better at training and working with dogs because he had Blue to guide him from the very beginning.

 

Blue's handler had exited the service sometime during Brock's first deployment and Brock had never met him. Perhaps it was fitting that Brock was partnered with Blue since the big shepherd was the one to put him on the path to work with dogs in the first place.

 

"I can still remember when I told you I was going to become a handler," Brock said after a moment.

 

"I do too."  John replied.

 

When Brock told him about the big black and tan shepherd he couldn't pronounce the name of but called Blue, John told him that the dog would break his heart worse than any woman or man ever could. It was the way of dogs, even more so the way of military dogs. Dogs crawl into your heart and take up residence there and never let go of the piece of your heart that they claim.

 

Brock learned exactly what he meant when he had to hand the leash over to another handler when he went to green team. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. Harder than sending him into a room with armed insurgents. More difficult than cleaning up scrapes and plucking bullets out of the specially designed K9 vest. He almost didn’t go to Green Team just for that reason. The knowing that the safety of his best friend, his furry brother in arms, an extension of himself, was now in someone else's hands tore his heart to pieces. He was turning his back on and leaving behind the dog who saved Brock and his teammates' lives over and over again and threw himself into danger the second Brock asked him to.

 

"I was lucky," Brock said. He buried his fingers in the thick fur on Blue's neck. "I had him in my life much longer than most people can say about dogs they worked with." Blue could have been killed or horrifically injured on any one of the missions they went on together, but Blue made it to fifteen years old. He was medically retired when he tore a ligament in his leg. He honestly could have easily worked a few more years. He bounced back from the surgery with no ill effects. It was the way of the military though. They looked at the age and the injury and decided to retire him.

 

Previous handlers get the first option to adopt a retired MWD. Brock couldn’t adopt Blue since being single and active duty DEVGRU meant his life style would be unfair to a non-working dog. Blue's handler before Brock had removed himself from the world not long after he left the military. Blue's most recent handler was in the same boat as Brock, plus he hadn't had Blue for very long before the injury and wasn't as invested in him as Brock was. So Brock did the only thing he could think of, he called John.

 

Upon Brock's recommendation and John's experience working in the K9 unit of a Sheriff's department, John was allowed to adopt Blue.  Brock was blessed with the opportunity to watch Blue live a long happy life and now to say a final goodbye. To be there with him in the end. It was more than he had any right to hope for.

 

Brock didn't know how long he sat on the couch and carded his fingers through the shepherd's fur when the dogs in the other room began barking again. Janice hushed them then greeted the new visitor. When Janice and the new arrival entered the room greetings were exchanged. Doctor Pierce placed a bag down on the floor by the couch.

 

"Do you need more time?" He asked.

 

Brock shook his head. It hurt, but it was clearly time. Past time by a handful of days to be honest, but John and Janice wanted him to be here.

 

Both Janice and John shook their heads as well. Janice walked over and knelt down by Blue's head. Blue turned toward her and licked her face. She kissed his head and murmured, "You aren't just a good dog, you are the best." She got up and backed away. Tears began trickling down her face. John stood up and wrapped an arm around her waist. Blue dropped his head back onto Brock's lap.

 

Brock tuned the vet out while he talked and prepared a syringe full of a thick pink liquid. Instead he rubbed a finger gently between Blues eyes and allowed himself to soak in the heat radiating off of the dog. He rubbed at one of Blue's ears and wondered if it was the one that had a strip of flesh removed a few years ago for a project a friend of his was working on. He never looked to see if there was a scar. The vet knelt down and tightened yellow rubber tubing around Blue's leg. Blue ignored him. He didn't even twitch as the needle entered his vein and the pink fluid was injected. Brock leaned down and kissed Blues head when the vet untied the rubber tubing. Blue sighed and waved his tail twice.

 

Ever so slowly Blue's body relaxed. The steady rise and fall of his chest slowed then ceased. The vet listened for the now absent heartbeat.

 

"He's gone."

 

Brock continued running his fingers through the course coat. Already Blue was no longer as warm as he once was. Brock had lost many friends over the years. Some who were closer to him than any brother could ever be, but somehow, though he wasn't sure it made sense and probably would sound bad if he said it out loud, losing this dog hurt the most of all.

 

Blue had stolen a piece of Brock and never gave it back and now it was gone forever. But despite how painful it was, Brock could never regret knowing and working with him. Because no matter how much of Brock's heart he stole, in the way of all dogs, Blue gave more than he took. Brock and all the men Blue worked with, all the men he saved, would always remember him. He didn't just take a piece with him, he left a piece of himself behind in all of them as well.

 

Brock carefully eased his way out from under Blue's head. Once standing he reached down and ran his hand through the fur for the last time. John came up beside him and offered him a  bundle of fabric. Brock nodded in thanks and they carefully unfolded it and draped it over the shepherd's still body.

 

"Goodbye old friend," he murmured, lightly touching the flag, "we will meet again one day."


End file.
